The Wanderer
by Viva-taquitos
Summary: Not all those who wander are lost. A young boy without a name, a memory, or a purpose searches for his own identity. By his will alone, he will write the pages of a new story. [Post-AC]
1. Prologue

**To those of you searching for your place in this world,**

**And to those of you struggling to love yourselves –**

**This story is for you.**

**- Viva-Taquitos**

_Lifestream Black 4_

_When the man had burst through the surface, he had anticipated his nemesis to fight, yet the man had no intention of losing the fight. Despite the influence of his mother's cells, Cloud overcame the man once more, sending him into the Lifesteam for a third time._

_His mother's legacy, too, diminished into the current. The darkness that he had once sent coursing through the Lifestream faded away and finally ceased. Halfway across the planet, he felt the woman's contentment at her work. Even in death, her will was as strong as his. She brought about a cure for the legacy, and eased the souls of those already perished. _

_But the man was resilient. He has abandoned his earlier memories and made Cloud the center of his being. In doing so, he solidified his spirit. "I have not yet succumbed to the Planet, and therefore have not yet become just a memory." The man knew if Cloud still feared him in the physical world, his existence would be eternal._

_His will, too, was resilient. Though weaken, it still existed. He followed the flow of energy until he trailed the woman, careful not to let his own aura disturb her. The man was surprised when he found a piece of his will, still clinging to the Planet's waters and taking refuge with the woman. His counterparts had joined the Lifestream upon entering it, and yet the young boy felt a need to remain. The maiden's kindness and own will helped the boy's fragile mind rest at ease._

_The man, angry and curious at his remnant's actions, wanted to rip the spirit away from the influence. It was still his own will, and therefore he claimed ownership. _

_Yet the idea of a second rebirth intrigued the man. If he could will a presence to be born of the tainted Lifestream once, then the man could certainly do it again. He would simply be more cautious in the execution. _

_He observed the boy and the maiden, his anger subsiding. "You will be my puppet once more," thought the man, "And I will make you suffer for your atonement." _

Disclaimer: I own nothing. 'Lifestream Black 4' inspired by "_On the Way to a Smile: Case of the Lifestream."_


	2. Awakening

Reality.

In the back of my thoughts, separation – I had been displaced, crudely torn from my shelter and thrust upon the surface. There was nothing beyond that, however. Darkness, heavy and murky, settled on my thoughts. I attempted to remember my previous dwelling, yet was met with tremors and a profound sense of suffocation. Despite the gaping hole in my mind, I inherently knew there was nothing for me here. Nothing at all.

I wailed, deep and long, like a babe born out of its mother.

The sound bounced off the walls, the reverb shattering my ears to pieces. My hands blindly clutched the air, desperate to grab hold of something tangible. Unsuccessful, I used my miniscule strength to drag myself forward.

The instinct of survival beat within my veins.

I felt dirty, tainted. My hair clung to my face, my pale sheath stuck to all corners of my being. I was sticky with fluid, and it burned when I opened my eyes. I knew nothing of my physical location, but I had to be here for something. If I came to this place, be it on my own on with someone, then there was a way to get back – even if I was still searching for it.

An eternity passed before my exhausted body gave up. I dared to open my eyes, the stinging sensation easing somewhat. Blinking, my vision came into focus. It was a damp, dark place, filled with machinery and canisters of unknown liquids. A door stood a few feet in front of me, teasing me with its hope of escape.

Yet my body was too weak to comprehend such a feat. I was assaulted with another series of tremors, harsher this time, and needles of pain coursed through me. I sputtered fiercely, my own lungs racked with agony, and I felt fluid drip out of my nose. _Blood_, I thought, but was surprised when I glanced down at the splatters of liquid.

Dark spots, inky black, _plopped_ from my face. Another series of coughs left me gasping for air, and more substance spilled from my mouth. My head dropped to the floor, splashing the growing puddle of thick liquid.

As my mind faded into unconsciousness, I couldn't help but feel like I was being punished.

I was gazing upwards. Nothing but sky welcomed me.

I was lying on something very hard, and had the sensation I was being pulled backwards. As I continued to gaze upward, I realized the sky was moving with me. Dust clouded my sense of smell, and my physical self felt like it was bouncing.

Survival, once again, surged through my body. I shot up, attempting to collect my bearings, but was quickly forced down by the moving velocity. My head hit the hard surface with a loud crack.

The movement suddenly halted. Puffs of dirt filled the air above me – dimly, I comprehended I was in a vehicle. There was the sound of a door opening and feet hitting hard earth. A face came into my vision.

"That you?" said the man. He was older, his features sun-beaten and spotty. His face was partially obscured by a thick, dark beard; the parts I could view were smeared with grime. He studied my own face like an insect as his eyes darted to and fro. "I thought you were dead back there," he said bluntly.

I knew not where 'there,' was, exactly, but it must have been the place where I both regained and lost consciousness.

Despite my sorry state, the man wished to pepper me with questions. "Did ya go there on your own, kid, or someone pay ya to head up that way?" I opened my mouth to answer no, I had not chosen to go there or anywhere, but instead I began choking. I quickly propelled my upper body forward again, clutching my insides as the pain swam from my lungs to my throat. Black fluid spilled from my mouth, dripping on the dirtied cloth I wore. It sank into the material, leaving grayish purple marks along with the dirt. As soon as the spell was over, my body gave out, and my back hit the hard surface once more.

The man shook his head in light sympathy. "That's rough, kid," he remarked. "Nothin' I could do for you here, but at least I'll get ya back into town." He began walking to the front of the vehicle. "Take it easy!" he called uselessly. "We'll get there eventually."

The engine revved up and once again we were moving.

I craned my neck a little, even though it pained me to do so, and studied my surroundings. My means of transportation seemed to be an old truck, and I was gracelessly shoved in between tools. There were several pick axes and shovels around me, and a shotgun lay directly at my right. For a moment, I thought about picking up the shotgun and using it against the driver to escape.

The thought was fleeting, and it left me feeling rather guilty. I felt, too, like a gun would be too common for me, even in a small battle.

We bumped along the road, 'eventually' being an accurate description of time. I looked upward, the sky as clear and pristine as a gem. My thoughts swirled with dull pain and empty emotion; again, I felt abandoned. I recalled nothing of my past, let alone where I was. Evidently I was ill, perhaps even dying, yet I was granted to continue living. I gazed at the shovels, my traveling companions, and thought of their purpose. They had no will, and yet served this man.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the tendrils of waning consciousness. Perhaps, if I focused hard enough, I could come up with a bit of evidence as to who I was, or what I was searching for.


	3. Rescue

Far away, I heard the engine wind down and finally cease. I was slipping out of consciousness, my body weak with sickness. Despite my attempts to focus on the past, my thoughts remained blanked.

I sensed we had arrived in a town, and noted the mountains surrounding my location. There was the clatter of busy townspeople, and the chatter of townsfolk coming and going. The man stepped out of the truck once the car was off. I expected to see his face at any moment, but was surprised to hear his fading footsteps.

"Rorsche!" someone called. A second set of footsteps followed. "Find what you were looking for?"

"Nah, nothin'," the man – evidently, 'Rorsche' – responded. "I'm telling ya, there ain't nothin' in those caves. I don't care how the Lifestream burst out and mangled-up those mountains. Nothin' but squat, if you ask me."

My ears perked at the word of 'Lifestream.' A cooling, ethereal sensation flowed around me, but it faded before I could properly understand it. The conversation with the two men continued, the rest of their words meaningless with empty babble. I was too aware of my own self to care. As the truck traveled, I had not comprehended the extent of illness I suffered. Yet while I remained still, my body quivered. My cloth sheath stuck to certain areas of my arms, legs, and chest, prodding my pain further. Each spot was darkly marked with fluid stains; each passing minute, the stains grew larger with seeping moisture.

Approaching footsteps distracted me momentarily. A different man – Rorsche's conversation partner, most likely – appeared, and abruptly pulled the backing off the truck. The sight of me took him by surprise; he yelped out of shock.

"What the hell, Rorsche!" he bellowed, dropping the back of the truck with a _clunk_. "You hiding bodies now?"

"Not today," was the response. Rorsche made his appearance, looking down at me from the side. "Ya wouldn't let me get a say in edgewise. This kid was by the old reactor." His hand reached over my face, lifting up my sheath to view something I couldn't see. "I think he's been exposed to something tainted. He's definitely got the sickness, real bad from the looks of it. Can't talk or nothin'. _Was_ half dead when I picked 'em up, though."

The other man – 'Adam' – let out a low sigh. I couldn't see his face, but assumed he must have looked relived that his friend wasn't stowing those dead bodies. He then approached the truck once more, taking place opposite of Rorsche. Both men gazed down at my figure. There was nothing I could do except wait for their verdict.

Adam frowned, his face suddenly dubious. "I thought they knocked it out last year – the sickness, I mean." He, too, yanked at my humble clothing, studying my flesh beneath. "But that's it, no doubt." The younger man hopped over the side of the truck, appearing directly above me. His arms wrapped my frame, lifting my body from the truck's surface. The physical contact left me in intense agony, but I could only release a feeble moan.

Adam noticed this as we headed into the town. His doubt had faded as we left the truck behind. "I know how it hurts, pal. We'll get you something to take care of it."

The pain in my body swelled as I was carried, yet I was still aware of eyes examining our odd trio. Rorsche, a larger man, I noticed, trailed behind us like a guard. He politely greeted approaching townsfolk though his face remained solemn. Adam, on the other hand, kept his gaze even as he moved forward. The more people stared, the quicker Adam picked up his pace.

We stopped at a cluster of mountainside cabins. Rorsche stepped ahead and opened the door to a humble residence.

"Put 'em on the couch," came the terse command. Adam did so without a word. The release of Adam's arms somewhat eased the tension of my body, but regardless I felt like knives were plunging into my skin.

Rorsche disappeared into another room, leaving Adam staring at me from above. His eyes moved up and down my figure. His hands, I noticed, were stained from carrying me.

"You've been sick for long?" he asked. His question wasn't defensive, merely curious.

Not knowing the answer, I could only shake my head.

Rorsche came back, carrying a vile of green substance and a glass of water. "Ya got some luck, kid," he said at me. "I've been holdin' out on these supplements since we've got 'em last year – in case we needed 'em, ya know?" He popped the tab off the container and poured a few drops into the water – it glowed menacingly, then faded to a bright green. "This'll make ya feel like yourself again – takes the pain away, stops the oozin'." He knelt down next to my side and picked my head up. "Drink."

I parted my lips as the man tipped the liquid down. Oddly, I was reminded of the cooling flow of energy I had felt back in the truck – when I had heard the word, "Lifestream." I picked my head up and tried to signal the need for more.

"Don't bother," said Adam, noticing my attempted actions. "It takes about a half hour for that stuff to kick in. Just hang tight until you feel relief."

"Yeah. Don't want to drink this stuff raw," agreed Rorsche. "It'll kill ya, although I'm sure that's better than what ya feelin' now."

Rorsche stood, pointing to an unseen room. "When ya feel up to it, go make yourself a hot shower. It'll do ya a world of good – dries up the sores and everything, especially with that crap ya got in ya now." He and Adam began approaching the door. "We've got some stuff to settle in town, but we'll be back in a few hours, at most." As he headed out the door, he continued, "Make yourself at home, kid!"

Adam lingered for just a moment longer, observing the site of me in the empty room. He then tipped his cap and turned, following Rorsche and leaving me behind.

The medication set in after a few minutes, finally easing my bodily pain. My mind slowed, and I was swallowed by an unconscious sensation.

* * *

_Somewhere in my mind, I knew I was sleeping. I recalled this was something unusual; apparently, in my past life, sleep was useless. This new realm was odd to me. I was amazed that I could be somewhere new in my head, yet my body remained physically inactive._

_My feet were on solid ground; I continued to walk through the bleak darkness. A knot formed in the depths of my being. Abandonment – the exact emotion I felt when I was thrust to the surface – grew with each passing footstep. My breath quicken as I moved faster; I was searching. _

_Yes. I was searching for something. I was desperate to find it._

_A mental wall forced me to stop moving. Then, panic. Someone was watching me. Surrounded by darkness, I felt the confinement of a malevolent energy._

_The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I smelled blood, and decay, and fire, and was crushed by a hopeless feeling of nonexistence. _

_I wanted to cry - scream - jump – run – wail – laugh – fight – go – rip – kill -_

_Shaking, I sank to the floor and cowered. My mind flew in all directions, shattering my thoughts like broken glass. I whimpered, wanting nothing more than to flee and fight back all at once._

_But it had found me. It spotted me in my weak state and stalked me. I felt it approach from behind – a predator plotting to ambush its prey._

"_Pitiful," it echoed. It had no physical voice, but it was a manifestation of sounds in my brain. Each syllable tore my mind to shreds. I clutched my head, begging for release of the spirit. "You are nothing compared to what I have been…your existence mocks me…"_

_Hands were clutching my face. I gritted my teeth, finally succumbing to fear, and squeezed my eyes shut. "Please," I pleaded, afraid to look at it in the face, "please…"_

"_Human weakness," it resonated. "You deserve to walk on the physical earth as a human. I show no mercy for what I have done to your body and spirit…you will be useless soon enough. You will serve me, puppet."_

_I screamed and clawed at the hands that bound me. I would fight._

_I WOULD FIGHT._

_**I WILL FIGHT YOU.**_

* * *

I shot up, awake and aware. There was nothing in this space. I was alone.

My eyes stung as hot tears trailed down my face.


	4. Recovery

There was truth to my dream – a prophecy, even. Yet I was too scared to comprehend the enormity of what had happened. Too much, too quickly – all inside my head, too. If I had not begun to fight to spirit – at least mentally – my own consciousness would have been annihilated by its will.

I had other needs to tend to. My pain had eased, enough to the point where I could stand. My muscles creaked in protest – truly, I felt as if I were taking steps for the first time. I hobbled my way into the next room, the very room Rorsche had acknowledged. It housed a small kitchen, and on the far side was a washroom.

Apparently, 'showering' wasn't something I had experienced in my previous life. Humans must have done it often, I recalled, but bodily functions were not part of my identity. As I entered the damp room, my attention was drawn to the pipe sticking from the ceiling. Under the head were two knobs, and on the floor was a grate for drainage. I was amazed at a mechanism that could bring water from the outside in.

I stripped away the sheet that covered my body, relieved of its stickiness. I positioned myself under the pipe and twisted a handle.

Freezing water shot out in all directions, sending me into a flurry of yelps and curses. I quickly turned the other knob.

Tepid water soon replaced cold, followed by warm, and then finally hot water. I shivered from the utterly comforting sensation. I smiled as I stuck my face directly under the spray, with droplets splooshing everywhere and steam emitting from my warmed skin. It was easily one of the best sensations I had ever experienced, in this life or in my previous one.

A cloying, chemical smell wafted in the air. I noticed it was coming from a white bar, sitting in a dish next to a bottle of liquid. I tried to pick up the bar, but it was surprisingly slippery – it ricocheted out of my hand and on to the floor below. It left a trail of bubbles on my hands. I attempted to rinse off the substance, but I noticed the grim and dirt being drawn away too. Ah – a cleanser. Perfect. I scrubbed everywhere, including my open sores. The cleansing bar stung the wounds a bit, but it cleaned the gummy muck that had accumulated.

I felt reborn when I had finished. Rorsche had left some towels and a fresh set of linens in the kitchen – for that, I was grateful. I dried myself off and closed the bathroom door.

There was a mirror on the opposite end of the door – adjacent directly to the kitchen. As I swept the last fallen droplets off the floor with the towel, I caught a glance of my body in the mirror. I froze, mid-sweep. Though I knew I had come from another life, I did not remember what I looked like.

Slowly, I stood up from the towel and looked behind, right into the looking glass. I paused, in disbelief. My reflection was blocked by a mass of condensation.

I scuttled up to the mirror and wiped away the steam with my hand. A face came into view.

A beauteous figured frowned at me. It leaned close to my face, and then closer, until _our_ faces hit the cool class. I pressed my face to the mirror again, registering this face – this pristine, elegant structure – actually belonged to my body: a body that was racked constantly with pain, dreamed horrific nightmares, and was plagued by loneliness.

My silver hair fell directly into my eyes, partially obscuring my profile. Yet between the strands, my glowing eyes gazed into me. I feared them – somehow, my eyes were connected to my past life. Their slitted, glowing ambience was a symbol of my earthly punishment. I angrily wiped away the rest of the condensation to rid myself of their stare.

Although my face was immaculate, the rest of my body suffered from my illness. I was shocked at the large areas covered by masses of blackened flesh. A line of blisters covered my chest, and my legs were spotted with splatters of dark spots. I turned to observe my back – it, too, held sores, but not as much as my chest. My right arm was nearly covered to the elbow, but only the backside of my left arm suffered injury. Rorsche had be correct – the sores had dried up and stopped oozing, but they throbbed will dull, diluted pain.

As I continued to gape at my condition, I heard the door opening, accompanied by footsteps. Rorsche and Adam had returned; they each carried bundles of white cloth in their arms. Rorsche was notably relieved that I had arisen and showered. He grinned as he approached me. "Picked up some of these at the apothecary – we figured you could use 'em. Got rid of mine when the last of the sickness died off around here. How ya feeling, kid?"

"I feel well enough," was my response. The sound of my own voice – the first time hearing it since I had awoken – chilled me. I had not meant my words to sound so cold.

"Told ya that stuff'll make ya feel right as rain," replied Rorsche, unfazed. "Adam here will help ya with your wrappin's."

With those words, Adam approached my naked body, immune to my starkness. He unraveled the white cloth with a medic's patience and began assessing the wounds with a practiced eye.

"You are kind," I attempted, trying to ease my voice a bit.

"I'm…used to it," Adam said slowly. "But I'll admit, I haven't done this in a while. I didn't need to."

"You're in good hands with 'em," Rorsche convinced. Adam began wrapping my legs first, calmly and carefully. Rorsche looked on like a proud mentor.

I was amazed – not at the skill of these men, but at their compassion. Regardless that I was a stranger, regardless that they had not a clue as to whom I was, or where I was from, they stopped their lives to assist me. Quite simply, I could not comprehend it. I could not understand why – _why_ – they would choose to bestow their kindness upon a lonely soul, a being without any purpose.

The silence must have stretched a bit too long, as Rorsche had taken a seat at the table. He sipped at a glass, his eyes muddled with questions. I knew this moment would be coming.

"You got a name?"

_No_, I thought. Well, maybe at one point, but I couldn't recall it. I attempted to lie and come up with one, but my mind whirred to a stop. Unfortunately, Rorsche picked up my hesitation. He chucked as he said, "You're either trying to lie about it, or you don't know it."

"Both," I answered honestly. It was no use trying to hide anything.

Rorsche's eyes crinkled slightly. "Do you know where you are?" he asked. I could only shake my head.

"Nibelhiem," he answered. He framed his face with his hands as if to advertise a product. "The quaint little town in the mountains. Before _you_ ask," he continued, "I found ya up at the old reactor. I thought I might find some materia up that way, but got more than I bargained for with you."

"Materia?" I questioned.

"Yup. There's this rumor going around – that the Lifestream threw up more materia when it ran through here, busted up the earth, ya know? I mean, that was years ago, but no one had the balls to go up there and look. Sure enough I looked up there, and I found you instead." Rorsche picked up his drink as he continued, "I assume you don't remember going up that way?"

I suddenly grunted in discomfort as Adam tied my chest bandages a little too tight. "Sorry," he mumbled.

As Adam loosened his work, I concentrated on my words. A strong desire stirred in me – the desire to hate these people, and blurt out threats and violence without even thinking. Yet I closed my eyes and blocked those feelings; I knew I needed to choose my words carefully. These people had done nothing but good for me. There was no need to carry out a violence outburst of irrational emotion.

"I cannot answer your question," I finally replied. Looking at Rorsche in the eye, I continued. "But I am searching for something."

Just then, a jolt of pain convulsed through my entire body. Rorsche began yelling at Adam, but I knew it wasn't from the young man's handiwork. The world swayed and blurred as I fell to my knees, weak with searing agony. The men attempted to help me stand, but I shoved them out of the way angrily. My unexplained desire to harm – to _kill_ – these men pumped adrenaline through my veins. The impulsive change in my thought process was staggering. As I clutched my head, I recalled the nightmare from hours ago – I was experiencing that exact mental torture.

If I fought it once, I could do it again. I thrust my will against my mental walls. _Stop_, I thought. _STOP CONTROLLING ME._ _GET OUT OF MY HEAD._

I hung on just enough; the unstable thoughts dissolved like a fine mist. Though my head cleared, my body suffered. I spat up on the floor, black fluid pushing past my throat with a fierce intensity. It seeped from my throat into my nose, inhibiting my sense of smell.

I heard the men approach, apparently unaffected by my caustic actions. Rorsche took my previously used towel and began cleaning the mess on the floor while Adam rubbed my back. "Easy. Take it easy."

"Sorry, I'm sorry," I sputtered. _Why must you apologize to these fools?_ Damn that voice. It made me weaker. "I can't…"

"Back to bed, son," I heard Rorsche say. The two men assisted me to stand. We hobbled over to the couch – after setting me down, Adam helped dress me. Again, I was grateful for their kindness…but I felt utterly ashamed and useless.

"I don't know what you're looking for, son," Rorsche said, once I was settled, "but you're gonna have a rough time lookin' for it like that. You should focus on gettin' rid of that there illness."

My thoughts were swirling, in and out of focus. I feverishly tried to hold down another assault of coughs to no avail. Adam handed me a spare white cloth as more black fluid spilled from my mouth. Rorsche's words held truth, regrettably. How could I continue my journey if I couldn't care for myself?

"I wouldn't know where to look for that," I finally answered, feeling sick from all the guesswork. How I wished I could just remember.

"You don't have to look," responded Adam. He stood over me like a watchdog. "There's a place you can go – to get fixed. When they found the cure, we took our ill there in droves. We could've gone on foot, but luckily there were volunteers – with cars, in airships. It took weeks, but we finally got most people cured before they dropped dead."

So there was a cure for this sickness. There was a problem, however – I was here, and not where the cure was. "Why can't you transport the medicine elsewhere, around the world?" I asked.

"It's _not_ medicine," snapped Adam. He gazed at me, his glare intense. "Believe me, if it were medicine, I would have known about it. It's a natural spring. The waters have healing powers. When you take the waters away from the spring, they become useless."

"Whoever had the sickness needed to get there – either by foot or boat, whatever," added Rorsche. "Odd stuff, you know? The world gets nearly obliterated, a plague sets upon its people, and the only thing that'll fix it is a pilgrimage of sorts." Rorsche shook his head, lost in rippling memories. "Irony, if ya ask me."

It wasn't irony, but I understood Rorsche's words. If I am to be looking for something, I might want to begin at that very place. "Where must I travel?"

"To Midgar," Rorsche said slowly.

_Midgar…_

"Well, technically Edge, since Midgar's virtually useless," corrected Adam. "But there's a group of people who will lead you to the spring – which is located in the rubble of Midgar."

_Midgar…_

I couldn't quite comprehend the name, but sound of it unlocked _something_ in my brain. "You said the world was nearly obliterated…"

"Well – yeah!" laughed Rorsche. "You don't remember _that_ neither, kid?"

I had to lie about this. "Of course I remember…I just haven't thought about it since you rescued me."

At some point in the conversation, Adam had left to room to grab another glass and the remaining bottle of supplement. He mixed it before me. "You need as much rest as possible. Take this – " he handed me the medicated drink " – and sleep it off. That second dose will make you feel even better tomorrow."

I nodded and sipped. The men left for the kitchen, quietly conversing in low voices. There was something different about Adam's supplement – it tasted much bitterer than the earlier one. A cloud of fluff soon filled my legs, than my torso, and finally my head. I knew sleep would come again.

I silently thanked Adam for the extra narcotic, and drifted off into a state of comfortable unconsciousness.


	5. Interlude

**Lifestream White 4**

_When the woman had pulled the remnant into the Lifestream, she had felt his pain and anguish. The young boy was once part of the man's personified will, yet his mind was broken. The woman, filled with compassion, guided the spirit to ease its pain._

_Even as she felt the other remnants dissolve into the Lifestream peacefully, the boy wished to remain at her side. The light and love that radiated from the woman, even in death, comforted him. He had been brought into the physical world to be used and discarded, and now wished for acceptance. The woman accepted him, and used to her own will to fight for his spirit. _

_As she circled the Planet, the boy never left her side. Yet she sensed the man was plotting again. The man attempted to approach in secrecy, but the woman was aware of his presence. She caught a glimpse of his wicked plan during his proximity. The woman was saddened to learn he would use his remnant to take revenge on Cloud._

_But the woman did not lose hope. The man's plan was to make the young boy human. "If he is human," thought the woman, "then he could form his own will, and his own identity." On the day the man took the boy away from her, she held him close one last time. "Remember to be true to your own self," she told him. The woman decided she would try to guide the light in his heart as he roamed the physical world._

_The woman thought of Cloud and the rest of her friends living on the Planet. The boy must meet with Cloud, but the circumstances might make it difficult. The last time he was on the Planet, as a remnant of the man's will, their meeting had been violent. _

_She knew it was time to visit Cloud again._


	6. Opportunity

To awake from a drug-induced slumber is not something I particularly enjoyed. True, my physical pain was absent, but the fuzzy, dull sensation that clouded my brain made me feel sick. In fact, it was actually _making me sick_.

With speed I had not known I'd possessed, I tumbled off the couch and into the kitchen, were I promptly hurled in the sink. Not much was purged, mostly bitter black liquid – similar to the substance that flowed from my sores. The sight of it made me dry heave.

"You're awake!" came a voice. I turned to look at Rorsche, who stood in the doorway. I couldn't imagine what I must have looked like – hunched over, spitting up black acid into the sink, filthy bandages wrapped around my body. Disgusting.

Rorsche must have sensed what ran through my mind. He promptly responded, "No need to worry, kid. Ya look in better shape than most people who had the sickness. How'd ya sleep?"

"Well and unbothered," I replied. Remembering the narcotic, I added, "Adam certainly helped."

"He's good with things like that," said Rorsche. "He's just good with those kinds of things, period. He deals with all sorts of crap: medicine, illness and stuff. We're too poor to keep a doctor 'round here, but Adam's lucky enough to got the touch. He'll be around in a while to check up on ya."

I nodded, unsure of how to further interact with this man. Rescuing someone doesn't require much conversation, and I had the instinct I hadn't been much of a social being in my previous life. Perhaps feared, but not quite social.

Rorsche took the opportunity to sit. With a small smile adorning his face, he simply stared at me. It wasn't a malicious look, but I knew he must be sensing a similar level of awkwardness.

"Can I get ya anything?" he attempted. I shook my head.

Noticing another chair at the table, I hobbled to it, seating myself opposite of the man. Not a day had passed since I'd been recovered, but I knew I must be moving onward soon.

I knew, too, in order to do that, I needed questions answered.

Without a second thought, words tumbled from my mouth. "Why?" was my first question – open and honest. "Why did you take me here? Why did you care for me?" I understood my interrogation was sudden, and it may have appeared ungrateful.

I just needed to know.

Rorsche took a deep breath, his smile fading from his lips. He looked almost guilty to continue - _almost_.

But instead of an answer, Rorsche countered with a question. "You don't _know_ Nibelhiem, do you?" His emphasis on the word 'know,' while not harsh, chilled me. Rorsche continued, "I thought maybe ya would, because I found ya up there in the old reactor, but just from spendin' the last day with ya I know ya don't." He paused for a moment before he continued with hard, piercing eyes "What do you know of Shinra?"

"Shinra?" I repeated. _Hatred. Sucking life from the planet. A pawn in the plan. Hiding secrets._

"It's an electric power company," I answered.

"Almost," corrected Rorsche. "It _was_ an electric power company. The most powerful company in the world, in fact. Controlled everything. Like a gang, but on a much bigger scale. It's mostly dissolved now, but evidently the head honcho has been funding aid for the WRO. Tryin' to right his wrongs, if you know what I mean."

"What does this have to do with Nibelhiem?" I asked accusingly.

"Us," was the stoic answer. "Us. Shinra and us. The town you're in? Shinra _owned_ us. Shrina _commanded_ us. And they ran that reactor where I found ya, up until they shut that shit down for good.

"Years ago, there was a mission to Nibelhiem. Shinra had an army, and they sent the strongest of their men to check their power reactor. You know what happened to him?"

_The truth, _I answered mentally, but stopped the words from spilling out.

"That guy went crazy. Destroyed the whole town. And what was Shinra's solution? To hire workers – dozens of 'em – to act as the townspeople. They arrested the survivors and paid us to act out our lives. I used to work for those scumbags."

"Why _used_ to?" I questioned.

"They dropped us. Dropped us like an atomic bomb. Once the world almost ended, Shrina dropped the entire town – the ruse, the money – "

I scoffed at his testimony. "And you did nothing to help yourselves."

"The world was ruined," Rorsche replied calmly. His words heated just a bit, but overall he remained stoic. "There was nowhere for us to go. No were for a bunch of fake townspeople to go and share their story." The man paused for a moment to sigh heavily. "You don't get it," Rorsche went on. "My entire career came from that damn company. They played God better than God did. If people found out who we really were, especially when Shinra's the reason why the Planet was nearly run through –" he stopped for a moment, choosing to look down at the table. "We probably would have been killed."

So far, his roundabout way of answering my question left no room for sympathy. I almost comprehended the man's fears and tragedy, but couldn't allow myself to truly care. "What does this have to do with me?"

Rorsche's smile was gone now. His dark eyes studied my face, bored into my features. "You have it," whispered Rorsche. "You have the sickness." I could have slapped him. He spoke in riddles.

I grew impatient, the effect of the narcotic slipping. "_So what._ I'm sick. You haven't yet answered my question." My own eyes narrowed. "Why have you brought me here?"

The man faltered under my gaze. I could only imagine how I appeared to him. White hair, eyes blazing into slits – I must have looked like an unholy demon. Regrettably, a twinge of guilt crawled up my spine as the man began to twitch. It stopped me from standing in his face and scowling.

"It's not as common as it used to be," Rorsche spoke, regaining some of his composure. He still couldn't look me in the eye. "There hasn't been any report of it in months. Not until ya showed up at that reactor."

Useless. So far his words were useless. "You should have let me die," I replied. It would have been better than this pathetic life of puzzles.

"Maybe," Rorsche agreed, "But…" A pause. His words hung heavy. "…it's you. You're a sign."

_More like an omen_, I thought, acutely aware of the potential evil I could posses. I held it down, however, even as the pain crept into my now-dry sores. "I don't believe in signs."

"Well, believe it," said Rorsche. "I know what went on up there. Those people – _Hojo_ – we all knew. But we were lapdogs. We did nothing."

I nodded, but knew nothing of the conversation. I just wanted him to talk – to admit what he really thought of me.

"You could be the one to get away from here."

_Away_. Rorsche was a simple man. Yet as I listened to his words, I realized the both of us were quite similar. Rorsche worked for a company, assuming he would work his way to the top, only to be spat out. Perhaps I once had a purpose, and perhaps I was shelled away, too. When I awoke, I felt it – the loneliness, the abandonment – but I had the will to continue. To search. Rorsche was stuck. He was stuck in a place and knew he had to stay there.

Not like me. I had the ability and the privilege to wander.

A cutting pain interrupted my train of thought, but I fought for the right to speak. "Your kindness is overwhelming," I said. "But I must know why I am different. I can feel it. And for that, I need to move onward."

"Yes," Rorsche agreed. "You are different. I almost feel sorry for ya, kid. Ya have a long way ahead of ya. But ya know it's more than I got here." His eyes fell about my features, taking in every physical detail. The mechanics in his head were spinning.

"What is it?" I asked, curious of his fascination.

Rorsche shook his head, but I was eager for him to answer. _Tell me_, I willed, but someone was walking through the front door. Both of us looked into the corridor, only to be greeted by a box-toting Adam.

The younger man studied us at the table for a moment, then put the box in front of me. "For you," he said. "For your journey."

"We knew ya would be getting onward," continued Rorsche, now standing. "We got what ya need right here." He pulled various items from the box – smalls flasks and bandages, wrapped bars and sets of linens. Out from the bottom, Rorsche pulled a crude-looking satchel of worn leather. One by one, he explained each item as he placed them in the carrier: rations, dressings for my wounds, a hefty supply of supplements, each to be diluted with water before taken. I struggled to retain a hacking cough as Rorsche spoke, knowing it would be time again to drink the soothing liquid.

Once my items were packed, Rorsche placed his hands flat on the table. Adam stepped alongside him. Both grappled with words. "You," began Rorsche, "We're giving ya your freedom, ya hear?" He held up the satchel, packed with the bestowed goods. "You'll leave tonight. Take this to Midgar. Talk to no one in this town. There is map –" he fished it out of the bag and held it up "– which will tell ya exactly where to go, what to do, to get ya ass out of here."

On cue, Adam began explaining next, "On the back is an address for those who will guide you to the healing place. It's bar in Edge. Seventh Heaven, they call it. Don't confuse it with Johnny's Heaven on the outskirts. Go there and tell them you want to be cured. They'll be able to take care of you."

My head was pounding with all the instructions. Yet inside, an excitement bubbled – there was hope for me. I could be cured, and finally start searching for my own purpose.

"Remember," added Rorsche, cutting through my thoughts. "Don't speak to anyone. There are some damn loyals to Shinra still here, and they got word I found something up in their old hidin' place. They might have reported to the old Department of Research, methinks…"

"You said Shrina was dissolved now," I mused quietly.

"Well, they say roaches can survive the end of the world," Rorsche freely admitted. "Shrina's kinda like a group of filthy roaches."


End file.
